Sara dropped to her knees so they were facing each other. "They did get the bullet out. He's been in a coma, but I think he's going to be fine. And so are you, if you'll fight this thing." Rage boiled like water in a tea kettle as she demanded, "Who told you that?"
"Mr. Cleghorn. He said the doctors told him there was no hope. And he also said everybody thinks I shot him because he wouldn't leave Alma for me. But that's not so. I'd never hurt Luke. God knows, I wouldn't. I love him, Sara." She began to cry.
Sara reached through the bars to pat her shoulder, wishing she were inside to hold and comfort her. "I know you do. And you know why Burch lied? He doesn't want you to fight. He wants you to give up so it will be easier for him. With everyone thinking you're a home-wrecker and a cold-blooded murderer, it makes him a kind of hero to help put you away. Then they'll start forgetting about what he did. That's what he's after. He doesn't care about you."
Emma Jean wailed, "Oh, Lordy, Sara, what am I going to do? I thank God Luke is going to live, but there's no hope for me. I did kill Rudy. Don't you see? I stabbed him with a butcher knife."
"But he was beating you, wasn't he? It was self-defense. He'd beaten you before, and you couldn't take it, anymore. That's what you can say, and with Luke to back you up, the jury will believe you."
"No, they won't. They'll say he's only doing it because we've been sleeping together. But maybe they would if Matt would take up for me, too. After all, he was there that time I lost the baby. He saw me all bruised up, and..." Noting Sara's expression, she asked fearfully, "What's wrong?"
"He won't get involved. Nobody would dare to except for me and Luke. I won't be any good as a witness because I never saw Rudy beat you or any sign he had. Now your trial starts next week, and if you let Burch plead you guilty it's going to be cut and dried. You'll be sentenced right away, unless you stand up for yourself and say it was self-defense."
"But he won't let me."
"He can't stop you. And you don't even have to let him know ahead of time you plan to do it. The judge will ask how you plead, and you just shout out 'not guilty' and then explain how you did it in self-defense. You can say Rudy was beating you like he'd been doing for a long time, and something snapped and you couldn't take it, anymore."
"I... I could do that," Emma Jean said, spirit beginning to stir. "I could tell everything that happened that night and hope and pray they believe me."
"Tell me," Sara prodded. "Tell me exactly what happened. Every single detail. Don't hold anything back."
Emma Jean pulled herself up to sit next to the bars. Swallowing hard, she tried to think of how to put the horror into words. Finally, with a deep, ragged breath, she told her story.
* * *
He had entered the bedroom carrying the butcher knife, bellowing his fury.
"You been screwin' around with him, you little whore. It took me a while, but I finally figured out that damn window was busted from the inside. Not the outside. There weren't no burglar that night. I caught you two, only I didn't know it then."
Emma Jean shrank away from him, whimpering in terror. "No, Rudy, no. It's not like that. You've gotta believe me."
He backhanded her so hard lights flashed before her eyes as she was knocked against the wall. He hit her again with his open palm, making her fall sideways. Another backhand sent her reeling the other way like a pendulum.
"Rudy, please, don't..." Blood ran from the corner of her mouth.
His fist slammed into her belly, and when she rolled into a fetal position, he yanked her off the bed and threw her to the floor and kicked her. "I told you if I ever caught you screwin' around, I'd make you sorry you was born. I should've known you'd never change. You was a whore when I met you, but you're gonna learn no woman cheats on me. I'm gonna teach you a lesson you won't never forget.
"Now get back on that bed." He grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted, painfully pulling her up to her feet.
Emma Jean was howling with pain. Again, he made a fist and hit her in her chest. She was struggling to breathe, wheezing sounds coming from deep in her throat.
He threw her down on the bed, turning her on her stomach and then stripped off his clothes. "I'll give you something to cry about, you little bitch." Yanking his leather belt from his trousers, he brought it down viciously across her back. "Now lay there and take what you got comin' and don't you make a sound."
Through the misting anguish that blurred her vision, she could barely see the knife he had laid aside on the orange crate table next to the bed. Fingers clawing at the sheets as he shoved himself painfully into her from the rear, the thought came to her that she would rather cut her own throat than endure another second of tormented degradation. She loved Luke. Deeply and truly she did. But he was not free, and neither was she and never would be. There was no place for her to escape the madness except the grave.
Slowly, her hand snaked out for the knife. Lost in his perverse lust Rudy did not notice. Her trembling hands closed about the handle, and she began sliding it towards her. It would be over soon. A quick, sharp slash to her throat, and she would quickly bleed to death. She only prayed that Luke would escape Rudy's wrath. Surely, with her dead, he would leave Luke alone. It would be over.
Suddenly, Rudy flipped her roughly over on her back. "You're gonna finish it for me, whore. I'll bet you do it for him all the time, don't you? Well, you won't do it again, 'cause I'm gonna cut his dick off before I kill him. Oh, yeah, I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna make him squeal like a pig on butcherin' day."
Like the puncturing fangs of a rattlesnake, Rudy's threat against Luke ignited rage and rebellion unlike anything Emma Jean had ever known before. She bit down. Hard. Twisting, pulling, tearing. She tasted blood but did not let go.
And in her hysterical insanity, she plunged the knife into him again and again.
* * *
Emma Jean slumped to the floor, sobbing quietly. Sara was also crying and murmured, "It's okay, honey. You aren't to blame."
But Sara feared a jury might think differently, even if Luke was able to testify about Rudy's beating her in the past. It had been a brutal killing, and only someone who had experienced such cruelty and humiliation could empathize. It would, sadly, be a hard case to prove, especially with a lawyer who was secretly sacrificing his client for his own gain.
Sara sat with her until Emma Jean quieted, then said she was going to see what she could do to help.
Emma Jean asked her to please try to sneak back and let her know how Luke was doing. "And tell him I love him. I never told him that before, and it's important he know."
"I'll tell him," Sara managed a smile. "But I think he already does."
* * *
Sara drove through the night but did not want to go home just yet. Finally, as it started getting light, she felt the need to go to the Veazey house to see where it had happened. There was a wreath, signifying a death in the house, tied with string through holes in the screen door. The flowers were dried, the leaves crumpled, and the ribbon hung limp. She tried the door. It was locked.
She turned away, not knowing what she had been looking for, anyway. Walls could not talk. Neither could the chickens, who were beginning to come out of the hen house. Someone, probably Sid Dootree looking out for things since he owned the house and the land, had filled the feeder with mash, and the chickens were migrating toward it, cackling softly among themselves as the rooster crowed to herald the dawn.
Sara turned toward the car, but, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something or someone emerging from the roost house. She whipped about in time to see a woman run around the side to disappear behind it. Sara's heart quickened. Maybe there was someone who might be able to help Emma Jean after all.
Chapter 29
"Come on, Luke, tell us who did it," Matt asked, not for the first time. He and Kirby stood on opposite sides of the hospital bed. It had been nearly a week since Luke had awakened, and it was the first time the doctors felt he could be questioned.
The bed was rolled up to a sitting position. Luke was sipping a cup of coffee. "Like I said. I'll take care of it myself."
Kirby argued, "But you aren't going to be out of here for a while. We need to go ahead and make an arrest. Just give us the name."
"There's no hurry," Luke said quietly. "They aren't going anywhere."
Matt and Kirby looked at each other, then Matt said, "So there was more than one."
"Of course there was. Now stop yammering at me about it and tell me what's been going on." He longed to ask about Emma Jean but didn't dare. He wondered where Sara was, why she hadn't been to see him. She'd not only fill him in but also get a message to Emma Jean. Since waking up, he'd had little to do but lay there and think. And what he thought about the most was how he wanted to get out of the hospital so he could make plans to leave town. And he was taking Emma Jean with him, by God. All the hammers had struck, his mother now rested in peace, and he could, finally, get on with his life.
Again, Matt and Kirby exchanged glances, but Luke did not notice.
"Well, actually, nothing's been going on," Matt said. He had promised Alma he wouldn't tell Luke about Emma Jean murdering Rudy, how she was going on trial, none of it. Alma said the doctors had told her Luke wasn't up to handling anything stressful for a while. It made sense to Matt. Besides, Luke couldn't do anything about it, anyway. Better to get it over with. He'd be plenty mad later, but Matt figured that was Alma's problem. He was just cooperating.
Kirby chimed in, "Yeah, the only thing folks talk about is you, wondering who did it, and..."
Luke interrupted, "One of you do me a favor and call Sara. Tell her I'd like to see her. Don't say anything to Alma. You both know how she feels about her."
Matt said, "Yeah, sure." He motioned to Kirby. "We'd better get going. Remember they said we couldn't stay long. Tires him out."
Being in bed so long had left Luke weak. He could neither stand nor walk by himself. A physical therapist was due to start working with him soon, but the doctors had said he'd be in the hospital for several weeks yet. But he could stand all that, could stand anything, if only he could get a message to Emma Jean and tell her to hang in there, that he loved her more than anything in the world, and as soon as he was able they were taking off. And Sara would do it for him. He had no doubt about that.
"Don't forget to call Sara," he reminded as Matt and Kirby walked out.
Alma was waiting outside and heard. "Don't you dare call that little bitch," she whispered viciously once the door closed after them. "I mean it. I don't want her anywhere around him."
Matt had never cared for Alma, but she was, after all, Luke's wife. "Don't worry. We agree he doesn't need to know what's going on. He's not well yet by any means."
"That's right. Next time you visit just tell him you couldn't reach her."
"We probably won't be back any time soon," Matt said. "We were only able to come today because Judge Barrett gave everybody a day off because the court reporter is sick. She'll be back tomorrow, and we're hoping they'll finish jury selection. It's keeping us real busy."
Kirby looked worried. "Yeah, Rudy Veazey's kin have filled the courtroom every day, and those that couldn't get in made so much noise in the hall we had to run 'em off. It'll turn into a circus if we aren't careful."
Alma sniffed and said, "Well, I don't see why there even has to be a trial. I mean, after all, Burch says she's pleading guilty. Why not be done with it?"
"Oh, it won't take long," Matt assured. "Once the guilty plea is entered, all that's left is for the jury to deliberate and decide the sentence."
Alma brightened. "Well, I hope she gets the electric chair."
Kirby shook his head. "Don't count on it. She'll probably get life instead, and that's when we expect the Veazey clan to go nuts."
"Can't say as I blame them. What she did was unforgivable." Alma wanted her to be executed so Luke would eventually forget her, which wouldn't happen as long as she was sitting in the women's prison down in Montgomery. She told Matt and Kirby good-bye and went back into Luke's room.
He was awake, and when she opened the door he saw the "No Visitors" sign for the first time. "How come nobody can see me?" he asked, annoyed.
"You need your rest," she said sweetly. "But don't worry. In a few days, you can have all the company you want."
Because, she smiled to think, in a few days, it wasn't going to matter.
* * *
"Don't you feel a little bit guilty about not calling Sara for Luke?" Kirby asked as Matt eased the patrol car into a parking slot behind the courthouse. "I mean, they've always been close, and I think Alma is off-base thinking there's more to it than friendship."
Matt switched off the motor and leaned back to give Kirby a look that plainly told him he thought he was off his rocker. "I can't believe I have to spell it out for you. Alma doesn't want anybody visiting Luke that might tell him about Emma Jean going on trial. She was there when I found Emma Jean holding a knife and covered in blood. Alma was there because she thought Luke was there. Somehow she found out about him and Emma Jean.
"So," he continued, "she wants Emma Jean to go to prison to get her out of Luke's life. She's also afraid that if he hears, he might try to do something to stop it, like get up and testify how he thinks Emma Jean did it in self-defense. He knows how Rudy used to beat her."
"Hell, you could testify to that."
"I'm not getting involved, and if you're smart, you won't, either. Listen, Luke's my friend, but he got himself in this mess with Emma Jean. I can't see risking my reputation in this town by stepping into a hornet's nest, which is what I'd be doing if I got up and said she had a right to kill her old man 'cause he slapped her around a time or two."
"I don't know," Kirby said doubtfully. "It just don't seem right."
"Since when is minding your own business not the right thing to do? We've got families, you know? And they've got to live in this town just like we do. I say we stay out if it."
Kirby thought a minute, then nodded in concession. "I guess you're right. And if Luke raises hell with us about it when he finds out, well, we'll just say we were doing what his wife asked us to."
"Exactly." Matt started to open the door, then turned as someone called his name.
Buddy Hampton was crossing the street from the cafe. "How's the sheriff?" he asked with what he hoped was an expression of genuine concern. "I hear he's awake."
Kirby headed on toward the courthouse while Matt explained Luke's condition for the moment, how he was on the mend but terribly weak and could not have visitors.
"Such a shame, such a shame," Buddy clucked mechanically, all the while thinking about his waning hopes that Luke would die and his troubles would be over. "Has he told you who shot him?"
"No. I wish he would, but he says he's going to take care of it himself."
Buddy murmured, "Yes, he has a way of taking matters into his own hands, doesn't he? Well, keep me informed." With a tip of his hat, he went to his car and got in.
As each day passed and Luke had not awakened, Buddy had dared to hope Luke would die. But now, hearing that wasn't going to happen, he would have to follow orders and slowly put Luke's plan into motion. When he could put it off no longer, he would make the announcement that a young negro named Archie Swain was being appointed to the newly created position of Senior Vice-President for Labor and Race Relations. That would, of course, follow explanation of the mill's new policies, not only in regards to racial issues but also in support of voting in the union as well. It made him gag to think about it.
And, once again, he cursed the shooter for missing his mark.
* * *
Even though it was the second day of December, the weather was warm and humid. Betsy had dragged her table out of the fish cleaning shack because there weren't any windows, and the supermarket folks were too damn cheap to buy a fan. She was covered in scales from head to toe, and as she reached to push her hair back from her face, a piece of fish gut smeared ac
ross her cheek to leave a bloody streak.
She was wearing baggy overalls and no shirt beneath. No underwear, either, if the truth be known. She was standing barefoot in a puddle of melting ice from the fish boxes, as well as blood and entrails... and more scales.
Glancing up at the sound of a car in the alley, she saw it was Sara Speight. Betsy knew everybody in town. She went to a lot of funerals and church picnics, anywhere there was free food. She fished in the pocket of her overalls for the good-sized cigarette butt she had found in the alley that morning. It still had a few puffs left, and she had a box of penny matches, too. Lighting up, she took a deep draw and said, as Sara drew closer, "You can't buy no fish back here. You gotta go in the store. But they ain't got no fresh in there yet and won't have till I clean 'em. Gonna be good, too. Got a bunch of catfish."
Sara tried not to wrinkle her nose at the revolting scene, as well as the smell. If she had been in a buying notion, her mind would have changed real quick. "I came to talk to you, Betsy."
"What for? I ain't done nothing." Betsy eyed her warily. She could not think of any business Sara Speight might have with her. Sometimes she picked through the trash in her neighborhood, but she never stole anything that wasn't already thrown away. Sara had good scraps, too. Once she had found three nice pieces of fried chicken.
Sara tried to put her at ease. "I didn't say you had. I just want to ask you a few questions."
Betsy frowned. "What kind of questions?"
"You sleep in roost houses sometimes, don't you?"
Betsy shrugged. "So what if I do? You ain't got one, so what's it to you?"
"Emma Jean Veazey saw you coming out of hers one morning."
Betsy took one last drag on the cigarette. She tossed it into the puddle at her feet. "How does she know? She's in jail." Slicing open the fish's belly, she ran her fingers inside and drew out the contents.
Sara winced, glancing away as she said, "It was a long time ago."
"Yeah. I been there. She's got some nice hens. Real friendly. I like her rooster, too. And the perch is good. More comfortable to sit on than most others because the poles are wider." She tossed the fish entrails to the cats hovering about. "What's this all about? I don't bother nobody."
Final Justice Page 33